


A Latawica's Venom

by SageGarnish



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bruises, Coming Untouched, Curse Breaking, Curses, Dubious Consent, First Kiss, First Time, Fuck Or Die, Geraskier, Kissing, M/M, Marking, Mildly Dubious Consent, Painful Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rough Sex, Sex Pollen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-13
Updated: 2021-01-05
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:14:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26976430
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SageGarnish/pseuds/SageGarnish
Summary: When Geralt defeats a latawica, he takes a dose of the potent venom. The problem is, the venom causes the victim to be incredibly ferally horny.He makes it back to town, but what will happen when he's back in the inn room with Jaskier? Is Jaskier really okay with this?Just self indulgent dubcon sex-pollen, very PWP... but if you're into Geralt mindlessly rutting against a bard with no way to fight back, then this is the tale for you!
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 11
Kudos: 204





	1. Cursed

**Author's Note:**

> Just made a little Twitter fic for Geraskier, my new favourite ship. Thought I'd put it up here too!
> 
> I am a new Witcher fan and I've only seen the show so far. I have bought the books, and I will read them, but as a fair warning, if I screw anything up, that's why.  
> I chose the Polish demon Latawica as the enemy, as they are similar to the more commonly known monster the succubus/incubus. Beyond the name and general concept, I played very fast and loose with the mythology.

Geralt swayed on his feet, and Jaskier took a step toward him, raising a hand to assist. It was rare to see the Witcher unsteady, more still that he was so with no visible injuries.

"Bard..." Geralt mumbled, "We should return."

Jaskier blinked as Geralt jerked away from him and sheathed his sword.

The corpse of the latawica lay steaming on the ground, no longer a fair maiden, but a hideous blackened thing.

Geralt leaned down and ripped a hank of the still fair tresses from it's skull.

"Y-yes," Jaskier nodded, "Are you sure you're alright, Geralt?"

"Hm," Geralt grunted.

It was a 30 minute journey back to the town, and the witcher grew more unsteady as he walked.

Jaskier nearly pointed out what a pity it was to not have brought Roach, but he bit it back when he considered the possibility that Geralt might simply tumble off Roach's back.

Geralt was a mess by the time they returned, and Jaskier had to charm the town magistrate as Geralt wobbled in the town hall behind him.

"I represent the White Wolf," Jaskier said, waving the creature’s chunk of scalp and hair in front of him, "We slaughtered the latawica, so fair’s fair, pay up."

The magistrate grumbled "We...?" under his breath dismissively, but counted out the coins into a small leather bag and handed it to the bard.

The magistrate peered behind Jaskier then, and asked, "Is he quite alright?"

"Oh, hm?" Jaskier laughed nervously, "Oh he's always like this after a battle, just have to get him in bed for a good rest, you know. Hard days work!"

"Very well," the man replied, "the inn still has your room set aside. Thank you for your... service."

Jaskier bowed deeply, shoved the money and the bag of latawica hair in his pack, and spun around to escort Geralt to the inn.

Jaskier and Geralt got back into the inn in record time, despite Geralt staggering about like a drunkard. Once they were in the room and Jaskier could take the mans appearance in, it wasn't relieving.

The witcher was visibly sweating, which was unhead of. Flushed, a rarity on his pale skin. His hands were reflexively clenching, and when he finally turned his eyes to the bard, the pupils were blown black.

"Geralt?" Jaskier took a wary step back.

"The venom..." the witcher hissed and rubbed his forehead with one hand, "I misjudged. It will not stop until I achieve release."

The Witcher fell forwards, and caught himself on the edge of the table. The bard hovered in front of Geralt, worry plain on his face.

"R-release!?" Jaskier's voice went high, "What exactly do you mean by release?"

"I shall slake my thirst in you, bard," Geralt ground out in a low voice.

Jaskier yelped as Geralt gripped his wrist and tugged him against his waiting chest.

"GERALT, STOP!" Jaskier pushed ineffectually at the Witchers' broad chest, armour still splattered with gore.

Geralt’s eyes flipped back to sanity, and he shoved the man way from himself.

"I'm sorry, Jaskier..." Geralt sounded like he was fighting madness, "you must leave, you..."

Geralt groaned low in this throat and bent nearly in two.

"I can't hold it off.... Jaskier.... send a whore up, I... the venom will race through me, but it will move faster if I don't have help.... I can't...."

Jaskier's face screwed up in distress, "Are... Geralt, are you going to DIE?"

"You dallied too long, bard," the Witchers eyes were mad once more, and he reached out to crush the bard against his front.

Then a tongue was in Jaskier's mouth, Geralt pressed against him, all heat and teeth.

The witchers' strength was beyond anything Jaskier could compare it to, and he struggled slightly but the arms gripping him were like steel.

Jaskier had long imagined what it would feel like to have the pale haired man's hands, his mouth on him, but this was like some fever dream.

He spared a mournful thought for his jacket, now pressed with the black blood of a monster, but gave in to the exploring tongue. Jaskier was hard now, embarrassingly, incredibly hard. He gave up on attempting to make his own movements and simply let Geralt do as he wished. _‘It wouldn’t do to look a gift horse in the mouth’_ , Jaskier thought wildly.

Geralt was moving fast now, his earlier uncoordinated actions gone, stripping off bits of his armour. Jaskier moved to take his own jacket off, but Geralt's hands were back, ripping the bard's clothes off. Jaskier made a muffled noise of protest, in defense of his fine clothes, but it was for naught.

Somehow Geralt was still kissing him through it all, rough and intense, little bites here and there.

In what seemed like no time at all, they were both mostly naked, as they both kicked their boots off and Geralt shoved Jaskier on to the closer of the two beds.

Geralt hissed softly and his hands slipped lower to rub at Jaskier's cock.

The bard made a strangled noise and humped up into Geralt's sword roughened hands.

Jaskier felt as if he was going to explode. Geralt’s hands weren’t gentle, but they worked his prick with purpose, milking clear fluids out the tip and rubbing it back into the head. Jaskier arched his back and closed his eyes, overwhelmed.

So it was that he wasn't expecting another slicked finger to slip down behind his balls and circle gently.

Jaskier’s eyes snapped open.

"Geralt, no, you're not," Jaskier stammered, nervous.

"Hm," Geralt was wild eyed, as he used both hands to rub at both Jaskier’s prick and hole.

"Geralt, no," Jaskier was painfully hard, his cock dripping, and he gasped out protests as Geralt pressed a slippery finger deep inside him.

"I've never..." Jaskier threw his head back and moaned as his hands gripped the bed linens..

While Jaskier had charmed his way through various ladies and lords, and no small amount of wenches and peasants, he'd never done THAT.

It wasn't that he was opposed to it per se, but his dalliances never tended to leave him much time for preparation.

He also liked the ease of sneaking out in the morning, ready to go, ready to travel. And he had some worries about the realities of the punishment on his backside. 

That was all in the farthest reaches of his mind now, as the witchers' long fingers delved into him.

Jaskier hadn’t noted Geralt slicking up his fingers with oils, but it must have been from one of those thrice-damned vials he always had.

Jaskier was thankful that Geralt still had that much control over his mind. Doing this without the oil easing the way didn’t bear thinking about. 

Geralt was pushing wet fingers in, one after another, stretching and prodding.

Jaskier struggled briefly, but couldn't stand against the other man's strength. And the sensations sparking up his spine made him question whether he even wanted to.

Geralt’s hands were hitting something inside him that was whiting out his brain.

He keened softly as Geralt pulled his fingers out and grabbed the bard by the hips.  
  
Geralt used his supernatural strength to slide Jaskier further up the bed and climbed up between the man’s legs.

Geralt let go and reached down to his own cock, clearly preparing, and Jaskier spared a wild thought of escape, of just making a break for the door.

He knew there was no chance he’d make it, not with Geralt in this monster infused craze, and he wagered he’d just get injured during any attempt.  
  
_‘More injured than I will be already, at least,’_ Jaskier laughed out loud at the thought, as he felt the Witcher’s thick prick lined up at his hole.  
  
_‘He’s huge! Oh Melitele, I’m in for it,’_ Jaskier thought in a panic, _‘I have to say something...’_

“Geralt… GERALT!” Jaskier shouted at the white haired man, and finally Geralt glanced up, his eyes clouded.  
  
“Be gentle, please,” Jaskier begged.  
  
Geralt’s eyes weren’t even focused, and he simply grunted and edged forwards, his dick straining the rim of Jaskier’s asshole.

He gripped Jaskiers hips tightly now, and the bard knew it would leave bruises. Even through the pain, the thought made his cock pulse, imagining Geralt’s finger marks lingering on his body for the coming week.

Jaskier was gripping the reed stuffed mattress so hard he was certain the innkeeper would charge him for damages.

He was utterly lost. The stretch, the burn, Geralt’s hands like steel locking him to the bed.

His mind was spinning as he could barely process what was happening. He was in agony, ecstasy.

Geralt pushed in, and in, and still ever in. He wondered idly if he’d die here, if the venom would burn through Geralt as he tore Jaskier apart.

Jaskier cursed the night by the fire when he’d idly fantasized what it would be like to be one of the white haired witchers’ trysts.

He had no way of knowing that just a short week later he’d be laying beneath Geralt like this, unable to stop it, and not sure if he even wanted to.

Geralt had been pressing into Jaskier for what felt like eons, and finally he pushed himself against Jaskier, bottoming out. Jaskier thought gratefully of the oils easing the passage, and his body relaxed around the witcher’s cock now that it had reached the farthest it would go.  
  
“Fuck,” Jaskier moaned, “Geralt….”  
  
And as if this was a signal, Geralt pulled himself out slightly, and then gripped the bard’s hips and pulled him back, hard.  
  
Jaskier cried out as the man’s prick bumped against that place inside that Jaskier knew of, but had never had first-hand experience with until today.

The bard knew no less than 3 different bawdy songs about that little gland, and which towns and taverns would earn him some extra coin to play them in.

A line from one came unbidden to his head as Geralt prodded the spot once more with a vicious roll of his hips.  
_“For once more to trust, from a masterful thrust, and pleasure he had from behind”_ the melody sounded in Jaskier’s mind, and he let out a manic laugh as he was bounced against the bed.  
  
Jaskier wondered if Geralt would be offended by Jaskier’s hysterical laugh that was slowly tapering off, but the witcher was single minded.

Geralt laid into him with a methodical fierceness, and Jaskier felt himself ease closer to that precipice of orgasm.  
  
“G-Geralt, I’m…” Jaskier released the blankets he’d been grabbing like a lifeline, and reached to fumble at his own prick which was bouncing and leaking across the smattering of hairs on his lower stomach, “Melitele, I’m so close, I…”

  
“No,” Geralt grabbed both of Jaskier’s wrists in a vice grip and leaned forwards, changing his angle and pressing the bard’s slim wrists on the bed above his own shoulders.

The bards’ legs were shoved up on either side of the witcher’s thick thighs, and bounced with Geralt’s thrusts.  
  


Jaskier’s eyes opened as wide as possible as he tried in vain to pull his hands from Geralt’s grip.

  
“Geraaaaalt,” he keened, “I… I can’t… I’m going to…”

Jaskier was ready to burst, but he was held back, with nothing to touch his prick but the barest brushes of Geralt’s stomach. The thick cock inside him pressing relentlessly against the lightness and spark inside him.

  
“I will have it from you, bard,” Geralt finally spoke, his voice more gravelly than normal, “You will come on my prick or not at all.”  
  
And Jaskier gasped in disbelief as he felt himself sent over the edge, back arching as much as physically possible.  
  
“Oh fuck, OH FUCK, GERALT!” Jaskier felt his cock pulse and shoot a great jet of cum across his chest. It was like nothing Jaskier had ever experienced.

The pauses between the throbs of orgasm were like a torture of pleasured waiting, and he felt himself clenching around Geralt’s cock with great force.

All he could feel was Geralt, on him, in him, his hands surely leaving bruises and scraping the bones in his wrists against eachother.

But nothing mattered other than the heat ripping through him unbidden, shooting wave after wave of white fluid over his chest.

Jaskier could hear himself yelling his own voice hoarse, and a tiny still-sane part of his mind knew his next performance would be poor, and he didn’t much care.

His asshole was still grabbing and sucking at Geralt’s cock and Geralt was clearly affected because he let out a roar and used one hand to maneuver Jaskier’s leg higher.

Geralt leaned forwards to bite and suck at Jaskiers neck.

Jaskier could only let out a soft noise as he felt Geralt stiffen ever harder in him and begin to throb.

The bard felt sure he could sense liquid heat flooding into him as Geralt made satisfied noises and his thrusts grew staggered.

The witcher sighed finally and half collapsed onto Jaskier.

“Geralt,” Jaskier grunted, “Not that I mind terribly, but you’re heavy, so…”

  
Jaskier realised then that Geralt was passed out. 


	2. Tea & Teasing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Geralt has exhausted himself and passes out on Jaskier, the bard runs for help from the local healer.

“Fuck,” Jaskier squirmed his naked sex-marked body out from underneath the larger man with some difficulty, and turned to check his pulse.

Steady slow heartbeats comforted the bard, but Jaskier knew Geralt wasn’t in a normal sleep. He swore again as he threw his clothes back on, with no care for the semen arced across his own torso.

“The… the healer….” Jaskier muttered to himself as he grabbed his bag and sprinted out the door, making sure to slam it closed behind him.  
  
As he left the inn, he noted some of the patrons downstairs at the bar smirking at him and he scowled.

‘Bloody bastards…’ Jaskier thought to himself, ‘I’d like to see them avoid a horny witcher.’

At the healer’s cottage, Jaskier slammed the door open and a sprig of dried herbs fell on the floor. The healer was a stern faced woman who looked anywhere between 40 and 60, and she glanced up disapprovingly from her books.  
  
“Latawica! It… it venom,” Jaskier could barely breathe from the run, but he attempted to explain through panting breaths.  
  
“Pick that up,” the healer snapped, “My name is Moora.”  
  
“Y-yes, sorry about that,” Jaskier awkwardly bent to pick up the herb bundle and placed it on the table nearest the door.

“Now, again, tell me how I can help you,” Moora blinked owlishly at him, “Did you say a latawica?”  
  
“Yes, it… Geralt fought it, and killed it, but he said the venom was in him and it was going to work fast…” Jaskier flushed red as he realized he was going to have to speak of what happened, “He uh, he spent himself.... and then just passed out cold! I need to know if he’s going to be okay. Can you come and see him?”  
  
Moora chuckled.  
  
“Spent himself, did he? I’m sure he did,” the woman eyed the marks already bruising up on Jaskiers wrists.  
  
Jaskier followed her line of sight and slipped his hands behind his back.

“If he did achieve completion, he’ll be fine,” Moora nodded and tutted as she rummaged through some of the bottles on the counter, “The initial spike of lust madness is what kills you if you can’t find a partner.”  
  
Jaskier swallowed thickly. Geralt could have died if he hadn’t been there.  
  
“When did he get dosed with the beastie?” she pulled out 2 jars and a small stack of papers.  
  
Jaskier peered out the grimy windows to see where the sun was, but couldn’t tell.

  
“This morning sometime? Not early, nearly to midday,” he answered uncertainly.

Moora raised one eyebrow as she tipped one jars contents into her mortar, “At least a few candlemarks then… how long before he went feral?”

“Shortly after we got back to the village,” Jaskier mumbled as he watched the woman grind the two ingredients together with the pestle.

  
“He’s the witcher who came to kill it then?” she murmured and sprinkled another pinch of some herb into her stone bowl.

  
“Yes, that’s him, Geralt of Rivia,” the bard nodded, “took it out right quick.”

“That likely explains the delay,” Moora set the bowl down, “If it had been you dosed, you’d have needed a lay right there on the forest floor.”

Jaskier inhaled and blinked at the thought, his body reacting instantly despite how hard it had just been worked.

The bard coughed awkwardly and asked, “So, he’s going to be fine, then?”

  
“Oh, right as rain, he’ll be,” the woman chuckled, “but if you have any of the latawica’s remains with you, I can add it to this tea. The tea alone WILL ease the symptoms somewhat, but something from the beast will add to the effectiveness.”

  
“Oh,” Jaskier patted his bag and pulled out the stained leather pouch containing the latawica’s hair and handed it to Moora.

  
“Will this do?” he asked her warily.

  
“Ah, should have known,” Moora smiled and took the bag, “Witchers always know the best parts to take. I think, had he expected to escape unscathed, he’d have come here to sell it to me. A latawica’s hair is a valuable and not so common ingredient.”

Jaskier reached as if to snatch the bag back, hearing the phantom sound of money being lost, before he thought better of it.

“No worries, lad,” she pulled a single bloody hair out of the bag, tore it into pieces and sprinkled it into the pile of herbs in her bowl, “I’ll pay you a fair price for it, after I subtract the cost of the tea. It’s a good substitute for a great many other things, and I’ll be thankful for it once the winter sickness comes.”

Jaskier couldn’t think of anything else to say but thank her.  
“I appreciate… all this,” he mumbled, “I’m just glad he’ll be okay… He will be okay won’t he?”

As she poured the dry tea mixture into the folded paper packets, she chuckled.  
  
“Aye, as I said, he’ll be aright by tomorrow morn,” she shook her head, “Although the randiness won’t fade until then. He’s going to be very eager for some hours. Don’t let him ride you ragged though, boy. He won’t die, and this tea will calm him.”  
  
Jaskier stifled a grimace at being referred to as Geralt’s “boy”, and nearly protested, but worried he’d be overcharged for the remedy and bit his tongue.

  
“Er, yes, I’ll… make sure he gets it,” Jaskier quickly corrected himself, “the tea, I mean. Not… not… you know. I’ll make sure he gets… the tea.”

Moora set the bundle of finished teabags aside and folded them into a paper envelope.  
  
“Right then,” Moora nodded, “Now to business.”  
  
Moora and Jaskier haggled a bit over the price, and eventually settled on a deal they were both satisfied with. Jaskier was actually surprised to get so much, but she had said the latawica hair was valuable. Or maybe she felt sorry for him.  
  
The bard wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth, however, and took the coins, the leather bag and the envelope of teabags. 

He made his way back through the town at a more relaxed pace than the sprint that brought him there. Now that he knew Geralt wasn’t going to drop dead, he felt the tense horror seep out of his body. He spared a thought for how guilty Geralt would likely feel later on. Jaskier knew the Witcher, and he knew Geralt would blame himself. Jaskier made a personal vow to assure Geralt that not only was it not unwanted, but that it was VERY wanted indeed.

Jaskier eyed the teabags in his hand, and slipped them deep into his bag. 

“Perhaps I’ll just hold on to that,” he thought to himself, “just in case he doesn’t need it after all. His… Witcher physique might have worked it all out by now.”

And that was the lie he told himself as he rounded the last corner and came upon the inn.

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on Twitter: @SageGarnish 
> 
> I'm mostly a Hannibal blog, but I love Geraskier, Star Trek, Pacific Rim, etc. etc.


End file.
